“No one can advise or help you—no one. There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must," then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.” (6)
“Works of art are of an infinite solitude, and no means of approach is so useless as criticism. Only love can touch and hold them and be fair to them.—Always trust yourself and your own feeling, as opposed to argumentations, discussions, or introductions of that sort; if it turns out that you are wrong, then the natural growth of your inner life will eventually guide you to other insights.” (23)
“Try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.” (34)
“It is good that you will soon be entering a profession that will make you independent and will put you completely on your own, in every sense. Wait patiently to see whether your innermost life feels hemmed in by the form this profession imposes.” (44)
“To walk inside yourself and meet no one for hours—that is what you must be able to attain.” (54)
“And you should not let yourself be confused in your solitude by the fact that there is something in you that wants to move out of it. This very wish, if you use it calmly and prudently and like a tool, will help you spread out your solitude over a great distance. Most people have (with the help of conventions) turned their solutions toward what is easy and toward the easiest side of the easy; but it is clear that we must trust in what is difficult; everything alive trusts in it, everything in Nature grows and defends itself.” (67)
“It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation.” (68)
“…love that consists of this: that two solitudes protect and border and greet each other.” (78)
“And that is why it is so important to be solitary and attentive when one is sad: because the seemingly uneventful and motionless moment when our future steps into us is so much closer to life than that other loud and accidental point of time when it happens to us as if from outside. The quieter we are, the more patient and open we are in our sadnesses, the more deeply and serenely the new presence can enter us.” (84-5)
“What we call fate does not come into us from the outside, but emerges from us." (86)
“Art too is just a way of living, and however one lives, one can, without knowing, prepare for it.” (108)
Reading is a process of shining a light on text and observing the refracted patterns.
When we physically interact with the text, be it with underlines, marginalia, or little dog ears on pages, we're thinking out loud, we're anthologizing beauty, and we're also building a record of what's moving our minds that day.
For some reason, I've kept an obssesive digital record of my underlines for several years. This page aims to translate my hulking google doc into something more public and pleasant to consume.
Letters to a Young Poet [Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. Mitchell]
Alphabetical Diaries [Sheila Heti]
“A person‘s life should not be so filled up that a surprise friend can’t come in.” (6)
“Because I had love until this weekend, I didn’t think money was important.“ (21)
“Don’t see too many people in New York.” (36)
“I capitulate, I take polls, I do what other people think I should do.” (72)
“It was true that when I woke the next morning, it wasn’t as though the thought of him was in my head, but rather that my head was in the thought of him; the thought of him was bigger than my head.“ (106)
“No one at this point in history knows how to live, so we read biographies and memoirs, hoping to get some clues.” (131-2)
“Pavel is someone around whom I can sleep and write.” (143-4)
“Thinking yesterday that it is the days when I don't want to write, when my feelings are such that I can't possibly write, and when my inclination is certainly not to write—that then is especially when I should write.” (184)
“This desire to categorize monopolizes my time and my desire to write. This desire to order and organize, to make an architecture and understand.” (184)
“Write about people slowly, because people do move slowly. Write by hand.” (205)
“Because I had love until this weekend, I didn’t think money was important.“ (21)
“Don’t see too many people in New York.” (36)
“I capitulate, I take polls, I do what other people think I should do.” (72)
“It was true that when I woke the next morning, it wasn’t as though the thought of him was in my head, but rather that my head was in the thought of him; the thought of him was bigger than my head.“ (106)
“No one at this point in history knows how to live, so we read biographies and memoirs, hoping to get some clues.” (131-2)
“Pavel is someone around whom I can sleep and write.” (143-4)
“Thinking yesterday that it is the days when I don't want to write, when my feelings are such that I can't possibly write, and when my inclination is certainly not to write—that then is especially when I should write.” (184)
“This desire to categorize monopolizes my time and my desire to write. This desire to order and organize, to make an architecture and understand.” (184)
“Write about people slowly, because people do move slowly. Write by hand.” (205)
The Sympathizer [Viet Thanh Nguyen]
“So it was that we soaked ourselves in sadness and we rinsed ourselves with hope, and for all that we believed almost every rumor we heard, almost all of us refused to believe that our nation was dead.” (71)
I cleared my throat. Ms. Mori?”
“Hmm?”
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“It's Sofia, she said. And let's get one thing straight, playboy. If we get involved, and that's a big if, there are no strings attached. You do not fall in love with me and I do not fall in love with you. She exhaled twin plumes of smoke. Just so you know, I do not believe in marriage but I do believe in free love.”
What a coincidence, I said. So do I.” (76)
“From far away floated the susurrus of my mother's voice: Remember, you're not half of anything, you're twice of everything!” (139)
“But in fact, ever since I had awoken from the explosion, something had been nagging at me that I could not name, an itch that was not physical. Now I knew what it was—I had forgotten something, but what that something was, I did not know. Of the three types of forgetting, this was the worst. To know what one had forgotten was common, as was the case with dates of history, mathematical formulas, and people's names. To forget without knowing one has forgotten must be even more common, or maybe less, but it is merciful: in this case one cannot realize what is lost. But to know that one has forgotten something without knowing what that something was made me shudder. I have lost something, I said, pain getting the better of me and making itself audible in my voice. I've lost a piece of my mind.” (202)
“That is confession’s nature. We can never stop confessing because we are imperfect.” (336)
I cleared my throat. Ms. Mori?”
“Hmm?”
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“It's Sofia, she said. And let's get one thing straight, playboy. If we get involved, and that's a big if, there are no strings attached. You do not fall in love with me and I do not fall in love with you. She exhaled twin plumes of smoke. Just so you know, I do not believe in marriage but I do believe in free love.”
What a coincidence, I said. So do I.” (76)
“From far away floated the susurrus of my mother's voice: Remember, you're not half of anything, you're twice of everything!” (139)
“But in fact, ever since I had awoken from the explosion, something had been nagging at me that I could not name, an itch that was not physical. Now I knew what it was—I had forgotten something, but what that something was, I did not know. Of the three types of forgetting, this was the worst. To know what one had forgotten was common, as was the case with dates of history, mathematical formulas, and people's names. To forget without knowing one has forgotten must be even more common, or maybe less, but it is merciful: in this case one cannot realize what is lost. But to know that one has forgotten something without knowing what that something was made me shudder. I have lost something, I said, pain getting the better of me and making itself audible in my voice. I've lost a piece of my mind.” (202)
“That is confession’s nature. We can never stop confessing because we are imperfect.” (336)
Memoirs of Hadrian [Marguerite Yourcenar]
“When I consider my life, I am appalled to find it a shapeless mass. A hero’s existence, such as is described to us, is simple; it goes straight to the mark, like an arrow. Most men like to reduce their lives to a formula, whether in boast or lament, but almost always in recrimination; their memories obligingly construct for them a clear and comprehensible past. My life has contours less firm. As is commonly the case, it is what I have not been which defines me, perhaps, most aptly: a good soldier, but not a great warrior; a lover of art, but not the artist which Nero thought himself to be at his death; capable of crime, but not laden with it. I have come to think that great men are characterized precisely by the extreme position which they take, and that their heroism consists in holding to that extremity through their lives.” (24)
“Sometimes my life seems to me so commonplace as to be unworthy even of careful contemplation, let alone writing about it, and is not at all more important, even in my own eyes, than the life of any other person…Still, the mind of man is reluctant to consider itself as the product of chance, or the passing result of destinies over which no god presides, least of all himself. A part of every life, even a life meriting very little regard, is spent in searching out the reasons for its existence, its starting point, and its source.” (26)
“Here I made good use of my intimacy with actors, which had scandalized my family: lessons in elocution throughout long months proved the most arduous but most delightful of my tasks, and were the best guarded of my life’s secrets.” (40)
“The technique which I was obliged to develop in those unimportant early posts has served me in later years for my imperial audiences: to give oneself totally to each person throughout the brief duration of a hearing; to reduce the world for a moment to this banker, that veteran, or that widow.” (41)
“Our great mistake is to try to exact from each person virtutes which he does not possess, and to neglect the cultivation of those which he has.” (42)
“There is but one thing which I feel superior to most men: I am freer, and at the same time more compliant, than they dare to be. Nearly all of them fail to recognize their due liberty, and likewise their true servitude.” (42)
“A man who reads, reflects, or plans belongs to his species rather than to his sex; in his best moments he rises above the human.” (63)
“Each of us has more virtues than he is credited with, but success alone brings them to view.” (103)
“I doubt if all the philosophy of the world can succeed in suppressing slavery; it will, at most, change the name. I can well imagine forms of servitude worse than our own, because more insidious, whether they transform men into stupid, complacent machines, who believe themselves free just when they are most subjugated, or whether to the exclusion of leisure and pleasures essential to man they develop a passion for work as violent as the passion for war among barbarous races. To such bondage for the human mind and imagination I prefer even our avowed slavery. However that may be, the horrible condition which puts one man at the mercy of another ought to be carefully regulated by law.” (115)
“I recognize the danger of these armies of civil servants; it can be stated in a word, the fatal increase of routine.” (121)
“At least one fool will reign per century.” (121)
“Every bliss achieved is a masterpiece.” (164)
“I was to be pitied provided that I console myself rather promptly. I myself thought that I was somewhat calmed, and was almost embarrassed by the fact. Little did I know what strange labyrinths grief contains, or that I had yet to walk therein.” (202)
“I warned myself that it would take only a few wars, and the misery that follows them, or a single period of brutality or savagery under a few bad rulers to destroy forever the ideas passed down with the help of these frail objects in fiber and ink. Each man fortunate enough to benefit to some degree from this legacy of culture seemed to me responsible for protecting it and holding it in trust for the human race.” (217)
“Three quarters of our intellectual performances are no more than decorations upon a void.” (222)
“I have sometimes reproached myself for not having taken the precaution to engender a son, to follow me. But such a vain regret rests upon two hypotheses, equally doubtful: first, that a son necessarily continues us, and second, that the strange mixture of good and evil, that mass of minute and odd particularities which make up a person, deserves continuation. I have put my virtues to use as well as I could, and have profited from my vices likewise, but I have no special concern to bequeath myself to anyone. It is not by blood, anyhow, that man's true continuity is established.” (253)
“I sometimes wonder on what reef that wisdom will founder, for one always founders; will it be a wife, or a son too greatly beloved, one of those legitimate snares (to sum it up in a word) where overscrupulous, pure hearts are caught?” (269)
“Sometimes my life seems to me so commonplace as to be unworthy even of careful contemplation, let alone writing about it, and is not at all more important, even in my own eyes, than the life of any other person…Still, the mind of man is reluctant to consider itself as the product of chance, or the passing result of destinies over which no god presides, least of all himself. A part of every life, even a life meriting very little regard, is spent in searching out the reasons for its existence, its starting point, and its source.” (26)
“Here I made good use of my intimacy with actors, which had scandalized my family: lessons in elocution throughout long months proved the most arduous but most delightful of my tasks, and were the best guarded of my life’s secrets.” (40)
“The technique which I was obliged to develop in those unimportant early posts has served me in later years for my imperial audiences: to give oneself totally to each person throughout the brief duration of a hearing; to reduce the world for a moment to this banker, that veteran, or that widow.” (41)
“Our great mistake is to try to exact from each person virtutes which he does not possess, and to neglect the cultivation of those which he has.” (42)
“There is but one thing which I feel superior to most men: I am freer, and at the same time more compliant, than they dare to be. Nearly all of them fail to recognize their due liberty, and likewise their true servitude.” (42)
“A man who reads, reflects, or plans belongs to his species rather than to his sex; in his best moments he rises above the human.” (63)
“Each of us has more virtues than he is credited with, but success alone brings them to view.” (103)
“I doubt if all the philosophy of the world can succeed in suppressing slavery; it will, at most, change the name. I can well imagine forms of servitude worse than our own, because more insidious, whether they transform men into stupid, complacent machines, who believe themselves free just when they are most subjugated, or whether to the exclusion of leisure and pleasures essential to man they develop a passion for work as violent as the passion for war among barbarous races. To such bondage for the human mind and imagination I prefer even our avowed slavery. However that may be, the horrible condition which puts one man at the mercy of another ought to be carefully regulated by law.” (115)
“I recognize the danger of these armies of civil servants; it can be stated in a word, the fatal increase of routine.” (121)
“At least one fool will reign per century.” (121)
“Every bliss achieved is a masterpiece.” (164)
“I was to be pitied provided that I console myself rather promptly. I myself thought that I was somewhat calmed, and was almost embarrassed by the fact. Little did I know what strange labyrinths grief contains, or that I had yet to walk therein.” (202)
“I warned myself that it would take only a few wars, and the misery that follows them, or a single period of brutality or savagery under a few bad rulers to destroy forever the ideas passed down with the help of these frail objects in fiber and ink. Each man fortunate enough to benefit to some degree from this legacy of culture seemed to me responsible for protecting it and holding it in trust for the human race.” (217)
“Three quarters of our intellectual performances are no more than decorations upon a void.” (222)
“I have sometimes reproached myself for not having taken the precaution to engender a son, to follow me. But such a vain regret rests upon two hypotheses, equally doubtful: first, that a son necessarily continues us, and second, that the strange mixture of good and evil, that mass of minute and odd particularities which make up a person, deserves continuation. I have put my virtues to use as well as I could, and have profited from my vices likewise, but I have no special concern to bequeath myself to anyone. It is not by blood, anyhow, that man's true continuity is established.” (253)
“I sometimes wonder on what reef that wisdom will founder, for one always founders; will it be a wife, or a son too greatly beloved, one of those legitimate snares (to sum it up in a word) where overscrupulous, pure hearts are caught?” (269)
Difficult Loves [Italo Calvino]
“The minute you start saying something–’Ah, how beautiful! We must photograph it!--you are already close to the view of the person who thinks that everything that is not photographed is lost, as if it had never existed, and that therefore, in order really to live, you must photograph as much as you can, and to photograph as much as you can you must either live in the most photographable way possible or else consider photographable every moment of your life. The first course leads to stupidity, the second to madness.” (62)
“For some time Amedeo had tended to reduce his participation in active life to the minimum. Not that he didn't like action; on the contrary, love of action nourished his whole character, all his tastes. And yet from one year to the next, the yearning to be someone who did things declined, declined, until he wondered if he had ever really harbored that yearning. His interest in action survived, however, in his pleasure in reading” (99)
“‘What do you hear?’ she asked.
‘Silence,’ he said. ‘Islands have a silence you can hear.’
In fact every silence consists of the network of miniscule sounds that enfolds it: the silence of the island was distinct from that of the calm sea surrounding it because it was pervaded by a vegetable rustling, the call of birds, or a sudden whir of wings.” (151)
“The girl had set off on the descent, going back and forth in her tranquil ziggags, and had already reached the point where the trails were more trafficked by skiers, yet her figure, faintly sketched, like an oscillating parenthesis, didn't get lost in the confusion of darting interchangeable profiles: it remained the only one that could be picked out and followed, removed from chance and disorder. The air was so clear that the boy in the green goggles could divine on the snow the dense network of ski tracks, straight and oblique, of abrasions, mounds, holes, pole marks, and it seemed to him that there, in the shapeless jumble of life, was hidden the secret line, the harmony, traceable only to the sky-blue girl, and this was the miracle of her, that at every instant in the chaos of innumerable possible movements she chose the only one that was right and clear and light and necessary, the only gesture that, among an infinity of wasted gestures, counted.” (170)
“There are those who condemn themselves to the most gray, mediocre life because they have suffered some grief, some misfortune; but there are also those who do the same thing because their good fortune is greater than they feel they can sustain.” (263)
“For some time Amedeo had tended to reduce his participation in active life to the minimum. Not that he didn't like action; on the contrary, love of action nourished his whole character, all his tastes. And yet from one year to the next, the yearning to be someone who did things declined, declined, until he wondered if he had ever really harbored that yearning. His interest in action survived, however, in his pleasure in reading” (99)
“‘What do you hear?’ she asked.
‘Silence,’ he said. ‘Islands have a silence you can hear.’
In fact every silence consists of the network of miniscule sounds that enfolds it: the silence of the island was distinct from that of the calm sea surrounding it because it was pervaded by a vegetable rustling, the call of birds, or a sudden whir of wings.” (151)
“The girl had set off on the descent, going back and forth in her tranquil ziggags, and had already reached the point where the trails were more trafficked by skiers, yet her figure, faintly sketched, like an oscillating parenthesis, didn't get lost in the confusion of darting interchangeable profiles: it remained the only one that could be picked out and followed, removed from chance and disorder. The air was so clear that the boy in the green goggles could divine on the snow the dense network of ski tracks, straight and oblique, of abrasions, mounds, holes, pole marks, and it seemed to him that there, in the shapeless jumble of life, was hidden the secret line, the harmony, traceable only to the sky-blue girl, and this was the miracle of her, that at every instant in the chaos of innumerable possible movements she chose the only one that was right and clear and light and necessary, the only gesture that, among an infinity of wasted gestures, counted.” (170)
“There are those who condemn themselves to the most gray, mediocre life because they have suffered some grief, some misfortune; but there are also those who do the same thing because their good fortune is greater than they feel they can sustain.” (263)